


Heat

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sharing Body Heat, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: Castiel, recovering from an attack, is no longer an angel and needs comfort. Dean decides to provide it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little fic in 2010, sometime between seasons five and six - not that it really references anything in those seasons - and... somehow... I totally forgot about it. Like, COMPLETELY. Maybe I was going to write more, then forgot. Maybe I didn't like it. Maybe I started another fic and liked that one more. I have no idea! But I stumbled across it today and, after racking my brains to remember writing it, I simply thought, "Well, it seems a shame to just leave it here where nobody's ever going to read it." So here it is. Even if just one person reads it, it was worth it, I guess!
> 
>  **Word count:** 2,600  
> 

 

 

 

 

 

~ ~ ~

Dean’s a pushover, is what he is. He’s a grade-A, full-time, can’t-say-no pushover, and this is merely the latest example of just how pushed-over he is.

Cas is lying there in bed shivering because he’s in shock and fucked-up and hurt and Dean should really get the hell outta there because there’s nothing he can do about it – no, really, he can’t, because that creature (whatever it was, all scales and big leathery wings with bits of it popping in and out of dimensions and its heart set on _eating angels_ )... well, it just about sucked all the grace right out of his friend and left him human. And what the hell can Dean do about that, seriously?

He can’t pump the grace back in with a bicycle pump. He tried to kill the motherfucker, he honestly did, in the hope all that weird-ass mystical energy would come flowing out of it and back into its former owner, like when he and Sam killed the Shtriga and all those dying kids suddenly got better. But it had shrugged off their bullets and acted as though they weren’t even there, not that _that_ had been a surprise considering how even angels lived in fear of its attacks – praying to their useless Father that the next time it popped into another dimension, it wouldn’t come back again.

It had grabbed Castiel, turned his body into a plastic bendy straw and sucked everything holy out of it. Sam was even convinced, in that hit-too-many-books way of his, that Jimmy’s soul had gone too.

No way were two humans supposed to hunt and kill something like that. No way.

Now Cas is used up, screwed up, scrunched up, crumpled up. The creature just took what it wanted and threw him to one side, just another piece of celestial garbage. Like the poor bastard hadn’t been through enough already, for crying out loud. And there’s no way his grace is still out there, not like with Anna when it was squeezed into a tiny vial and worn around Uriel’s neck; no, this time it’s gone for good, digested in the belly of a beast that two Winchesters couldn’t kill and an angel couldn’t fight off.

Dean looks around at the room, rubbing his hands on his jeans, but Sam’s not gonna be back till tomorrow because he’s in the next state with Bobby finishing the hunt they were halfway through when all this shit went down. It’s just him and Cas, who’s been sleeping for days and only just woke up and is staring at him like he _wants_... what, Dean doesn’t know, because he can’t make him an angel again. And surely that’s all he wants right now? To be his old self?

“I’m cold,” says Castiel, and _man_ , Dean had forgotten how deep his voice could get, so deep it rumbles around Bobby’s panic room like it’s the earth itself speaking or something.

“I’ll get you another blanket,” he offers, feeling foolish, feeling helpless, feeling like an ass, because his bedside manner has never been his strongest character trait.

“That won’t help,” Castiel murmurs, rolling onto his side and sighing into his pillow, flexing fingers in the sheets and radiating so much unhappiness that Dean would weep if he let it get to him. But he won’t. He did his best and so did his brother: they tried to save Cas and they failed because that’s just the way the cookie crumbled. Life’s a bitch like that.

He takes a deep breath, thinking, _pushover._ “What can I do? Tell me what I can do, Cas,” he asks, already kind of knowing the answer.

Castiel just shivers, looking as though he’s frozen through, in shock. Dean glances around the room, wondering if he should bring in a heater or mess with a thermostat or something, but Bobby’s house is hardly air-con central. He has no idea if the old guy has any hot-water bottles or heating pads lying around, and there isn’t really any other way to warm someone up except... well yeah. Except _that_.

The thought hits Dean sideways, and he frowns as he parses it out. Then he knows he doesn’t really have a choice here.

“Okay,” he announces, kicking off his shoes, “I hope you realize that this is a special case and I wouldn’t do it for just anybody.”

Castiel stares up at him, blank-faced, and then Dean lifts the sheets and slides into the bed beside him. There’s barely enough room as it’s a single, but Dean doesn’t care that his butt is hanging over the edge or that Castiel’s head takes up most of the pillow. He pulls the sheets back over them and closes his eyes for a second – _what the hell am I doing?_ – before snuggling up as close to Castiel’s back as he can manage and wrapping his arms around him like a lover.

Like a _lover_. Dean’s never thought of Cas in that sense before but now he can smell him, all old fear-sweat and iron, and it’s so unexpected that he pulls in a breath of shock because he likes it. He likes being so close to another living thing: helping, warming, caring, and for once he knows who this is. It’s not some nameless, faceless chick he’s picked up in a bar who’ll be gone when he wakes up in the morning. This is Cas, who’s really had the shittiest of shittiest times since he first met Dean, but Dean isn’t going to blame himself for that because he’s too busy blaming himself for all the other shit in the world. Cas is a grown-up. Cas made his own choices. Dean keeps focusing on that. He’s not the angel’s keeper and he sure as shit isn’t responsible for him getting the mojo sucked out of him by the angels’ very own boogeyman.

Castiel shifts a little beside him, a small hum of pleasure leaving his throat which sounds so completely not-him that Dean smiles into his neck, titillated. The shaking slowly dies down and Dean can’t help but be amazed that something so simple could have such a huge effect on someone: all that heartache, all that pain, cured by a hug.

“You feelin’ any better?” he asks, watching with a weary kind of fascination as his breath makes the hair on Castiel’s neck move. “Is this helping?”

Castiel breathes out, slow and easy, moving his legs somewhere down under the sheets in a way that brushes his ass against Dean’s groin and makes him bite his lip. “Yes, it is,” he says, and Dean can feel the vibration in his chest as he speaks. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Dean replies, studying the outline of Castiel’s ear. It’s pink and fragile, something endearingly human, something that didn’t even belong to the angel until a few years ago, and something that is all his now. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Cas,” he tells him gently, and slides a palm down Castiel’s arm until he finds his hand. He meets it palm-on, weaving his fingers through his partner’s until they clasping each other, and the moment he does it he realizes _I like this way too much._ It’s like there are alarm bells clanging in his head, a lifetime of behavior wobbling and falling, all dominoes leading up this – every kiss, every touch, every fuck, everything. Dean’s world is changing and he can’t stop it.

Castiel lifts his head from the pillow and stares at their hands with an unreadable expression. Dean finds himself holding his breath, waiting for something to happen, not sure who’s gonna make the first move here but knowing it’s a given – they’re too close, too intimate, too wrapped up in each other both literally and figuratively. So he isn’t surprised at all when Castiel rolls a little so that he can meet his eyes, clearly questing for some kind of response, and Dean provides it willingly: kissing him with so much care he almost hates himself for treating him like he’s fragile. He kisses him with a tenderness he never knew he had, breathing a harsh moan into his mouth as a counterpoint to his delicacy, smiling as Castiel’s tongue hesitantly bats against his, exploring, seeking, experiencing...

It goes on for a while, more time than Dean’s aware of, lost in the gentle suck-lick-pull that’s suddenly his entire universe, right up until Castiel shudders and pulls away, twisting on the pillow until they’re spooning again and all Dean can see is the back of his head. He’s breathing hard; _processing,_ Dean thinks, because he knows for a fact that Castiel’s never kissed anyone before, never been this close to any other soul except that body he shoehorned himself into, and all of this must be pretty fucking weird for him. It’s pretty fucking weird for Dean, too, as he licks his lips and tastes another man, feeling the fresh burn on his chin from Castiel’s stubble. It’s half-pleasant, half-terrifying, and he has to take a few deep breaths to deal with the absolute fright that uncoils somewhere inside his mind, some primal fear of the _alien_ in an act he usually finds as familiar as breathing.

“I didn’t know,” Castiel says quietly, squeezing Dean’s hand.

“Know what?”

“How you felt.”

Dean considers this, wants to tell him that actually he’s never felt like this before; that it’s a spur of the moment thing, not some long, burning passion that’s been sitting deep inside him from the moment they met. This is just companionship, trying to make someone feel better, trying to help... but when Castiel turns to stare at him Dean realizes with a jolt that while he hasn’t been harboring any feelings, Castiel _has._ There’s such an unfamiliar expression on his face that he doesn’t look like himself – he’s a stranger, not the guy Dean knows at all. But mostly what’s written there is relief, pure and simple, because Cas loves Dean and Dean loves Cas back and as far as Castiel knows, it’s happy ever after for the both of them now.

Dean wants to tell him. He wants to sit up, push Castiel away and explain that life doesn’t work like that: he’s a guy and Cas is a guy and, society being what it is, guys fucking guys isn’t necessarily a good thing and holy shit, Dean likes women anyway, doesn’t he? He fucks them all the time, enjoys every second, never fantasizes about cock or hairy chests or bitten-down nails or adam’s apples. Right up until a few minutes ago he saw Castiel as a friend, nothing more, but now they’re pressed up together, hot and breathless, and this is so out of Dean’s comfort zone that he almost wants to scream.

“Dean?” Castiel’s eyes narrow. He looks... puzzled. Anxious. Like he’s not sure this is what he thought it was after all.

And Dean feels like the worst friend in the world because Cas had looked happy and he’d broken it, broken that feeling. After everything that happened to him two days ago, after the goddamn angel-eating monster sucked all that was Cas out of Cas, the last thing he needs now is another kick to the stomach. He needs to be looked after, cared for, made to feel as though being human isn’t the worst thing on the planet.

Before Dean knows it he’s kissing him again even though the voice in his head is telling him not to because _you’re not gay_. But he likes it; he can’t help it, it feels good, so good he can barely believe it. He jerks his hips against Castiel’s ass on instinct and feels him gasp at the contact. He pulls his hand away from his partner’s now-sweaty palm and it’s just a few inches from there to the bulge in Castiel’s crotch; he strokes the hard line of his cock beneath the fabric of his slacks, thinking of nothing except making him feel good because that’s what he deserves, dammit, after everything, after becoming human, after meeting Dean Winchester in the first place and fucking up his life to hell and back.

“That feels good,” Castiel moans into his mouth, sounding surprised. He hitches his breaths in and out as he lifts his hips from the mattress and rubs against Dean’s palm, over and over, seeking _more more more_. Dean can’t bring himself to unzip him and touch actual skin – he just can’t, it’s too much – so he simply grips Castiel through the layers of clothing and pulls, teasing, determined, one smooth movement following another until Castiel has to break off their kiss and moan out loud. It’s a beautiful noise, one Dean’s never heard before and he likes it, oh God, he likes it, and he likes how all of this is making him feel even though he knows he shouldn’t.

He shoves Castiel back onto his side – he goes, unresisting, his body nothing but a toy for Dean to play with – and he masturbates him as slowly as he can while he nudges at his back with his own still clothed crotch, as hard as anything in his jeans. It goes on and on and Castiel makes fucked-up, glorious sounds, whimpers and gasps and the occasional laugh as though he can’t believe how good all of this feels. Dean gets harder with each noise, planting kisses on the back of Castiel’s neck, biting carefully at his skin, thrusting his dick into the dip in his partner’s back because there’s nowhere else for it to go.

 _He’d be so tight if I fucked him,_ he thinks deliriously, sucking on the back of Castiel’s ear; and as if reading his thoughts Castiel grinds out his name as though he’s saying _yes, do it, do it right now Dean, fuck me as hard as you can._

“Cas,” Dean breathes, tasting sweat, bathing in their heat, feeling the hardness of the cock in his hand through material soaked through with pre-come, feeling the shudders coursing through Castiel’s body with each sweep of his hand, understanding how good it has to feel, knowing that this is the first time, the fucking first time ever and it’s Dean doing it, Dean’s the one squeezing Castiel’s dick until he stiffens and groans and almost screams with his orgasm, the first one, the first time, that’s it, it’s done now and Dean can’t take it back.

“Oh my God,” pants Castiel without a thought for what those words really mean. He throws his head back on the pillow and then Dean’s coming too, painfully and excruciatingly hard in his jeans, so awkward that he groans his discomfort and Castiel mistakes it for joy and kisses him, rolling on top of his body. The movement helps and suddenly Dean feels the pleasure hit, gasping, and when Castiel mutters his name and licks sweat from Dean’s neck, he reaches up and pulls him down until they’re belly-to-belly, gazing into each other’s eyes, hot and sticky and messed-up and wrong.

“That was fucking fantastic,” Dean growls, because it really was.

Castiel doesn’t reply, but his face softens and they kiss again and it’s not sexy this time, or erotic; it’s comforting, it’s nice, it’s fun.

It’s not until Castiel falls asleep with his head on Dean’s chest that Dean remembers that he’s really not supposed to like this shit.

But fuck it. It’s _Cas._

 

~ ~ ~


End file.
